[Retracted] me wrong

In a week he’d committed more sins than he would in a decade’s time. It was steeping to such lows that his past self would have drowned in remorse by now. Yet he felt no such thing. And although he was perfectly aware of the suffering that awaited him once time caught up, he didn’t care. The only part of the future he concerned himself about was how he’d remain hidden from Heaven. He had rarely felt so liberated. So extraordinarily careless of it all. So completely absorbed in the present. His perception of what was true had changed; the world painted in more colors and shades than the black and white he’d become so accustomed to. And nothing inside of him wanted to go back to that. He glanced to his forearm, to where the wound had spread in a matter of weeks, causing his veins to turn black underneath its power. The cut serving as an open invitation for darkness to invade. And every time it did, it only weakened the light in him.

He didn’t stay in one city for more than a few hours before he was on to the next. Not that he particularly minded that. It was a slight inconvenience compared to every other precaution he had to take. The most important of them was to conceal his aura and general trackability. He’d let his hair grow longer, and whenever possible, he’d changed his facial features, but a previous glamour had expired so he currently appeared his usual self and had to be on guard for people recognizing his face. He opened a small silver tin to take a magic-infused mint that concealed his aura, discovering there only were five left. He’d meant to renew all precautions yesterday, but the witch he’d spoken to last had spontaneously left town, and he urgently needed another. Otherwise, it was only a matter of hours before a spy would spot him and report him to their nearest leader. He knew Heaven’s operations to the core. He knew that most angels didn’t know of his disappearance, much less the details surrounding it. But Heaven had eyes and ears everywhere, and God didn’t take kindly to his children straying from their designated path, so here he was trying to find a solution that would grant him his extended freedom.

The bar in the alleyway didn’t look the least appealing and wasn’t it for the hum of music, he’d deem it closed. There was an abundance of trash on the street outside, and a couple of homeless addicts gathered along the brick wall. It was a sight that used to wake empathy in the angel but now only evoked disgust. He entered through the door and headed for the dark fairy whom he’d come to meet. The man pointed him to a witch who owned a shop in Japan and would be willing to help. And his price? Whatever about that. A blood sacrifice or ritual of some sort. It didn’t matter so long as he was able to help him before it was too late. Did he have another potential witch lined up, he might have hesitated, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice. A week wasn’t a long time to find new, yet reliable work, so he’d grasped at whoever he could find with short notice. After handing him a few banknotes in exchange for this information, he went outside and found an empty street. He closed his eyes and thought of the name of the city where the witch’s shop was located, but before he got further to the specifics he had already teleported.

The brightness of the place revealed that he’d traveled much farther than intended. He opened his eyes and observed a strangely familiar street. He was back in Oakheart; a city he wanted to avoid at all costs. And then it dawned on him. His gaze rose to the sign of the Little Lamb, and he knew she’d been the reason for the misunderstanding. Saga was the name of the city in Japan he’d meant to visit. Not her. His emotions, the darkness, or whatever damned influence he was under, must have been too reckless and eager in its search for a solution for it to affect his powers this way. There was no other explanation for why he’d been brought here.
He’d vaguely sensed an angelic aura nearby, but once it became stronger, he didn’t think twice about stepping off the streets and through the door of her shop. He remembered that it was protected from intrusion by teleportation, so it seemed the safest refuge. He closed the door behind him and turned the lock. Adrenaline surged through him, his instincts wanting to avoid his capture above all. But now that he was in here—behind a locked door and under a warding—he felt more at ease. At least enough to begin thinking about his next move. He kept by the door as he surveyed the room, convinced that she had some remedy in here that would hide his trackability. His biggest concern by far. The only problem was that he wasn’t in some stranger’s shop where such requests would go by quickly.

Click

His gaze lifted upwards as if the shop was to blame for the magic that returned the key to an unlocked position. He didn’t have to turn his head to know that’s what the sound had been, and it wouldn’t surprise him if such mechanics were put in place by the witch. But then the door opened, and he turned halfway, his green eyes settling on the witch he’d vowed not to see a year and a half ago. His lips curved slightly as she called him a frantic, sounding highly unpleased with his presence. And even though he’d hoped for a different greeting, he couldn’t blame her for it. “I know.” Once her eyes rose to his, he could tell that she hadn’t expected it to be him. At first glance, he barely looked like himself. Like the put-together, presentable, God-forbid he ever showed himself as anything less, archangel. Because every time he didn’t, he’d just clean himself up and look as if nothing had ever fazed him. Everything not to show the slightest sign of weakness.

His lips parted as to give her more of a greeting, but there was hardly a greeting that could brush over the fact that he’d left her without as much as a goodbye the last time they’d seen each other. Nor could any words properly explain the situation to her. If he said he’d locked her door because he needed a hiding place, she would ask him why he sought that here. She’d wonder why he’d even need it at all.
Worst of all, and perhaps the real reason for the lack of words, was that he realized he had a desire to see her. Facing her was all the conviction he needed. Whenever he was reminded of her in the past, he’d easily pushed it away. Convinced himself that he didn’t want to see her. And even if it felt like he did, he would have resisted it—at least to the best of his ability. He knew that he’d changed his mind if he as much as heard her voice. That was why he’d made sure to change his number. But had she prayed, it would have been over for him. He would have dropped about anything to go see her. After all, the question of her safety was the reason he’d made that decision in the first place.
He blinked and shoved the unwanted realization into the back of his mind, redirecting his focus on the matter at hand. “I need to ask a small favor of you.” Deciding the course of their conversation might just reduce her chance of asking about anything else. Maybe the favor wasn’t exactly small, but the adjective sure made it sound better—like it shouldn’t be of much trouble for her. He took a step closer to the window to check that the street was empty, that nobody but her had seen him. “I’m being tracked.” His senses focused on the angelic aura that appeared slightly weaker now, trying to determine who it belonged to, and more importantly that it continued to weaken. “I don’t have much time before the current spell runs out, so if you don’t have anything that’ll help, I need you to point me in the direction of someone who can.” He walked away from the light of the window and further into the main area of her shop. He had every expectation of her being willing to help, but he knew it wasn’t without its consequences. That seeing someone he knew potentially could jeopardize everything. It was far worse than any consequence he had to endure from some random witch who could provide the same services. Of course, he didn’t really need her to point him to someone who could help. He already had another witch lined up. But he said it because he wanted her to believe that his appearance in her shop had been intentional.

He glanced at her by the door, appreciating that she went along with his request instead of initiating another conversation. “Thank you.” He tried to see if he could sense something in her, any feeling towards him, but all he saw was the usual professionalism. It made him almost grateful for fate’s twist of events. Like it was on his side somehow. His gaze then shifted to the familiar on her shoulder, having felt their judgmental stare this whole time—watching him as if they could sense something was amiss. It was either that or the fact that they had never fully trusted him. Had a natural inclination of dislike towards him. And for a moment there was nothing in Michael’s eyes that indicated they shouldn’t be vigilant. The darkness appeared when he stared back at them. Like his eyes held a deep secret. And it was dispersed just as quickly so that when he looked back at Saga, they had returned to their usual warmth.

He stopped in the middle of the room, looking at the desk where he’d once given her a payment of one of his feathers. Wondering if she still had it in her possession. But he didn’t get much time to reminisce about the past before a powerful surge of magic enveloped him, extracting the spell he was under and pulling it into the light. Creating a surreal veil around him. Giving off a slightly golden hue due to the sunlight peeking through the windows. His gaze studied it, usually not seeing magic displayed like this, but even he could tell that it was looking weaker than it otherwise would have. He didn’t for a second doubt that she could restore it. Nor that her price would be fairer than any he’d pay somewhere else. “Yes. They’re either using magic or a supernatural tracker to get to me, so I need the spell to be renewed. The suppressants only really help hide my identity if I’m near one of them.” The spell kept him untraceable to most trackers, and due to his teleportation ability, and partial protections of various buildings he visited, it was difficult for even the best of them to catch up. The main reason for concealing his aura was simply that he didn’t want anyone to suspect that he was an angel, further disassociating that part of himself. Furthermore, it allowed him to get closer to darker creatures without triggering a flight or fight response in them.

He looked into her eyes, at that point not suspecting anything to be wrong, but the longer she held his gaze, the more it seemed as if she held something back. And that was when he felt the creeping restraints around his feet. He looked down at his shoes in disbelief, trying to take a step back but was unable to lift his foot from the ground. His eyes flickered with confusion as they darted back to hers. His countenance tensed as she gave him a hint of what this was about. She needed to know something? What the hell did that warrant this for? She could have just asked. There was no need to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
How did you do it?
Additional confusion passed his expression as he was trying to think of what she could mean by that. The magic obviously came from some other magic caster, so that couldn’t be what she wanted to know. And he had done a lot of things since the last time they met, but none of those should concern her. “You got to help me a little here, Saga.” She had said it in a way that made it sound like it should be obvious to him, so he retraced his memories to the last time he saw her. Trying to come up with one of a few things that she could be referring to. “Bring you back here that night?” he guessed, thinking it was likely that her father hadn’t come forth yet. Besides, he had expected her to confront him about that day at some point, so he might as well get it over with now. The last thing he wanted was for her magic to be compromised by something like that.

His eyes widened momentarily as she theorized on the effect of the suppressants, possibly being able to see that part of the magic in the veil. If they helped with strengthing his other spells, he needed to get his hands on more, and his usual supplier was a contact Heaven had. One that their spies used frequently. He couldn’t go to them. “Did you feel that was a hindrance the last time? My intense holy presence.” It was surely not so intense by now, although he didn’t suspect it to be anywhere near that of a fallen angel. The darkness of the mark couldn’t have wrecked it that much in just a week, could it?

Partially. His expression relaxed slightly as she confirmed that he’d guessed correctly. He had no problem with giving her the truth. He didn’t care for what words he’d given her father more than a year ago. They mattered none to him now. When she elaborated, she revealed something he already knew—that he wouldn’t be able to teleport into this space. If he could, he wouldn’t have arrived on the street moments prior. So, of course, he hadn’t been the one to do it. She had to know as much. “I wasn’t the one bringing you back, Saga.” He gave her some time to let that sink in before he dropped the biggest truth of them all. “Your father did.” Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move to tell her this. Maybe a lie would have gotten her to renew his spells faster. But just like then, he genuinely believed she deserved to hear the truth. “He showed up that night and told me everything. I tried to convince him to tell you the truth because I felt he should be the one to do it. I still do.” He could only imagine what she would think of it all. That despite knowing she had traveled all the way to Cuba to see him. That it had made her go along with an archangel who was on a mission to take down a dangerous demonic gang. That she’d been possessed by a demon because of it. Despite all that, he still didn’t want her to see him. It had to hurt to know. “After that, he offered to bring you back and I let him.” That was all there was to it. Of course, their leave would have looked much different if her father hadn’t shown up. But as a firm believer in destiny, he had genuinely believed it to be a gift at the time.
He couldn’t quite stop his gaze from wandering down to those exposed legs she’d crossed, couldn’t ignore the part of him that yearned to feel them against his hands. A desire he’d normally subdue completely. But she wasn’t doing much to help with the way she sat on top of the desk. Nor with the way she kept her gaze intensely upon him. “So, if you’re worried about intrusion from the likes of me, you’ve no reason to be.” His gaze calmly returned to hers, trying to catch anything in them that would reveal if she had been worried about this. In which case, she should feel better now.

With the truth out and a lessened safety concern, he wondered what other things she needed to know, what the word partially had referred to. This favor being extremely important to him, after all. “Was there anything else you needed to know? Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you could free me.” He gestured a hand to his shoes, still glued to the floor beneath him. He might hide it well, but he wasn’t the least pleased with this little stunt of hers. In fact, there seemed something off about her doing it in the first place. His gaze lowered to where her heart was, having noticed part of her soul was missing but thought nothing of it. It was common knowledge that witches sometimes used souls in their rituals, and though he normally abhorred the idea, he didn’t at this point. He had long since given up on ensuring that each soul ended up where they were supposed to go, and the demons mercilessly took away so many of them. It was impossible to keep up. But taking your own soul was a curious move, almost as if it was an urgent addition, or regarding something she was very passionate about.

He wished her description would have quelled his worries, but he knew the problem would crash down on him eventually. His aura wasn’t one to pass unnoticed. Even in a crowd of powerful beings, it still drew attention to him. He knew that allowing it out in the open would ease Heaven’s tracking of him. He wasn’t as concerned when it regarded how it affected his other spells. If his aura had made a witch question the efficiency or attachment of a spell, he should’ve already been aware of it. Of course, some might have just kept it secret so as to not deter him from returning to their services, but that couldn’t possibly apply to everyone. Saga was proof of this for one. “Good,” he responded conclusively, pushing the thoughts of his aura away. He’d most likely need to ask a witch for a spell to keep it concealed, but that could wait until he ran out of his temporary fix.

He remained stoically calm as he awaited her response, not caring much about this issue of hers. He only talked about it because it was the key to her helping him. Yet there was nothing that could have prepared him for her reaction, that tiny sentence that so clearly revealed her sadness and disappointment. A spark of empathy ignited in his chest and his lips parted to say something that would make her feel better but before words could be formed, darkness engulfed it and smothered the feeling, leaving a hollow pit in its wake—returning him to the usual indifference.
At the mention of Circe, he followed her eyes up to them. He could see how she’d think that. How bringing her back safely would sit right with the familiar. That they might think the angel could be trusted with taking the witch away for a few days’ time so long as he saw to return her. To not abandon her as they might have feared. Instead, they had been met with a person they’d known for far longer and undoubtedly trusted more than him.
However, what truth he trusted you with, he hasn’t yet shared with me, but I appreciate this.
His eyes returned to her with a puzzled gleam in them. He had expected more questions, and yet she seemed satisfied with that small snippet of the truth. Perhaps the revelation discouraged her enough to avoid thinking about it anymore. Perhaps she wasn’t the slightest vexed with him. He exhaled a breath, feeling relieved at how smoothly that had turned out.  

He laughed before his lips settled into a smile that exposed his pearly whites. It sure sounded like a tendency of his. One that had been pointed out to him many times. Not so much by other angels as those who couldn’t comprehend the million things that pulled at him at every given moment. Well, except for now. His commands, responsibilities, and prayers were all locked away in a safe inside his mind. Not to be opened anytime soon. But it was never to escape anyone. It was more a matter of obligation and reasoning. His job didn’t often allow for his emotions to keep him stuck in a moment if there wasn't a good reason behind it “My work does take me away quite often.” He stepped one of his shiny shoes forward, testing that the spell was lifted completely. “But in case there is a next time, a prayer could have saved you a year and a half of waiting.” It had seemed obvious to him that she would have done that. That Saga Rhyss wouldn’t have let him off the hook that easily. That she’d demanded an answer if it was of importance to her. He took another step towards her. “Mighty Michael, the Archangel! Glorious Prince, chief, and champion of the heavenly bodies; guardian of the hearts of men; dominator of the rebel angels! How beautiful You are in Your heaven-made armor. Who brought me back to Gaia last night, if not You?” he joked, his tone dramatizing the prayer as if he was reading it aloud from a book. “Less would have done as well,” he clarified as a playful smile emerged. Though worship helped he didn’t discriminate between all of those who looked to him for protection or guidance. He noticed the tattoo on her neck as she ran a hand through her hair, thinking it was a healing spell like the one she’d shown him before. But there was another mark that had him halt momentarily, a red area near the outline of the dress. However, his gaze quickly lifted to her face as she turned to face him from the opposite side of the desk.
“Should we get started?”

He stopped in front of her desk, lifting a hand to let his fingertips glide over the smooth wooden surface. But the movement froze abruptly when she mentioned the card. At that moment he knew he’d slipped up. He should have foreseen that she’d mention it. But he was not thinking as he had back then. He didn’t understand why he’d ever been so caught up in protecting everyone around him, why he was so convinced that hearing her voice would have changed his mind. It was so trivial compared to the ordeals he went through daily. How something so little was supposed to persuade him was frankly preposterous.
“It was.” A sign for her not to bother him. “But if I knew it'd make you feel better, I’d want you to have done it anyway.” An emotion emerged at this, the truthfulness of the statement surprising even him. And so did the unnatural and foreign warmth that followed the realization. But any evidence of this quickly vanished as she appeared from behind the desk. A tug of his lips concealed it furthermore. “A vice for a virtue. That does help explain the balanced state of your morals.” He’d always liked that about her. It meant she wasn’t going to get too attached to either side and that she made for a perfectly neutral business partner. So maybe her compass leaned a little more towards the dark side for the time being but so did his own.

He stepped back when she circled around the desk, letting her resume her position in front of him. He glanced to the herbs she’d presumably use in her spellbinding before he fixed his gaze on her, waving away something from the veil. He leaned down as instructed, staying quiet as he observed her. His arms tensed instinctively as she asked for his hands. At the prospect of that meaning that she’d need to reach further up his arms, but with little choice, he lifted his palms to meet hers. With the fold of his shirt’s sleeve, more of his skin had become exposed. But it wasn’t enough for her to discover the black streak of his wound. The only proof of it being there was some thin darkened lines that could as well be a little dirt or his veins looking bluer from his shadow. He had always remembered her touch to be very gentle, to make him feel some type of way that made him wish her hand would stay. This time wasn’t an exception. And he was beginning to realize just why he’d cut contact with her in the first place. Afraid that… Then again, it was an absurd thought. Something an angel like him shouldn’t remotely be thinking.

He'd noticed the smell and noise from the spring burning behind her but didn’t look to get a glimpse of it. Couldn’t take his eyes away from her. She looked so captivating when she dedicated her full focus to her work. To him.
When the chanting was over, he felt both invigorated and calmer—from the strength of the renewed magic and the following sense of security. The spells had ensured Heaven hadn’t been able to find him for the past week, so he was confident in them continuing to do just that. His hands lowered to his sides when she let go of them, grateful that she hadn’t sensed the taint in him. Her consecutive questions about the prayers made him inhale slowly and look away. It was a complicated concept. An ability that was so ingrained in him he didn’t stop to wonder how God had made it work. “If you’re special to me.” His eyes lowered to her. That was one of the conditions of him showing up after one prayer. It'd never reach the point of having him on speed-dial. None of the angels had time to cater to that. “But you’re right. I can’t be everywhere at once, so the… system, will prioritize some prayers over others. The intensity of fear in the person. The level of danger. If they work in dangerous-related fields. The person’s capabilities. If they’re human. If I know them.” A family member’s voice almost always overpowered any other prayer, no matter their problem. He knew he shouldn’t be biased in that way, but he’d never been able to detach his emotions entirely from that part of him. And either way, his family knew not to pray unless it was extremely serious.

She hadn’t had a reason to give it much thought until now. It’d be useless for witches to hold on to the hope that an angel would answer their prayers. But if they got close to someone like him, that connection would be enough to breach through the sea of voices. By the end of her sentence, he knew she was about to demonstrate a mental prayer, but he had no intention of opening that vault in his mind. Didn’t wish to hear all those screams and pleas. Didn’t need the reminder of the stress it used to give him.
He was about to answer her when she suddenly appeared pained and light-headed. He watched her cautiously, a concerned frown disrupting his otherwise calm expression. “Saga?” He was close enough to catch her if she was going to fall unconscious, but when she didn’t, he was left to wonder what it was that had caused the reaction—if the darkness had enforced a shield that hurt the ones who tried to reach him by prayer, or if it was the aftereffects of the spells. Her never mind revealed that she hadn’t been able to attempt the prayer. But why not? His eyes narrowed concerningly when she coughed after taking a deep breath. “Are you feeling okay?” It didn’t appear to be the case. But whereas the old him would have asked out of compassion, he now asked to know if it was related to the darkness. He needed to know the moment she had any suspicion of it. And if she was unwell because of the spells, then he’d just consider it an excuse for him to stick around in the safety of her shop.

Her next words and the accompanying smile helped soften his worried expression. Helped to diminish the severity of whatever it had been. He’d thought he’d made it obvious that none of those criteria mattered much if he considered someone special. Yet she’d passed over it as if he’d never said it. As if that sentence never could apply to her. She was right to assume that it shouldn’t. Acuteness, fear, defenselessness, and lives at risk should matter more. But the fact that she didn’t react to that as well as his statement of wishing she had prayed. It only proved that she either couldn't believe that it was real or didn't want it to be. And at this point, the latter seemed to ring more true. After all, if she didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t going to become real. It made him think he’d made the right decision when he’d intended to stay away. And he felt stupid for thinking there was a part of her that didn’t want him to when she clearly didn’t care. All she cared about was how he’d entered her shop. He almost laughed at his own thoughts from back then. But he was mostly relieved. Business partners. That’s all they’d ever been. “Right.” Saga Rhyss kept to the shadows and stayed out of trouble. Except for that one time when she’d gotten into trouble with him. He tilted his head as he studied her, contemplating whether those incidents were the worst she’d ever had to endure. If she believed the chances of something similar happening in the future were that low. That she’d never get close to that kind of danger again. Or if it more was a question of her thinking she wouldn’t get into anything she wasn’t able to get out of her on her own.

“The answer is no, by the way. I hear internal prayers too.” Those were the most common type of prayer. Often it was the last resort of someone who was so distressed that they didn’t know what else to do. But it was just as often someone deliberately praying to him, for whatever reason they thought he was the best to reach out to. He stepped closer to the desk on the left side of her, looking at the spot where the spring had burned moments before, but saw no sign of it. “What do I owe you?” He turned his body to face her, wondering if she’d ask him for something as valuable as his feather again or if money would suffice. A minute ago he’d been tempted to take his leave with the free magic, but something told him it was better if he didn’t. That he might need her help again.

Michael reached a hand inside of his jacket to retrieve a leather wallet. He shuffled through the different currencies until he found some pounds. It was about half of what she’d asked for, but Japanese yen was what he’d stolen last to pay the dark fairy for information. “I’ll pay the rest when I can,” he promised as he handed her the banknotes, hoping she’d allow the credit period. It seemed easily granted since she’d said it wasn’t a complicated spell and that she could grow more of the ingredient she’d used. The comment on luck made him smile faintly. He indeed felt very lucky that afternoon. To the point where he thought she might not take his secret that badly. Because if she didn’t care about him, her opinion of his weakened state would be neutral, and she wouldn’t try to cure him.

He returned the wallet to his inner pocket and followed her gaze to the door, thinking it was a hint for him to leave. He’d already straightened his posture to prepare himself for the goodbye when she spoke again, and his eyes drifted back to meet hers. A curious spark ignited in them as he could have sworn that she’d called herself stupid for thinking of him. It was very unlike her to admit. “Months, you say?” That small revelation was much more telling than the fact that she’d thought of him. Especially when he didn’t know what meaning he was supposed to put into that. If she’d been worried, or longing, or curious. If she thought of him with any ill feelings regarding why he’d left. If she solely thought of him because he was the closest she’d gotten to finding her dad. However, he also knew why she’d deemed such thoughts stupid to dwell on. Because she quite possibly never would know the answer.
“You know, for someone who’s experienced what a mission with me is like, you’d think the desire for such knowledge would be nonexistent.” Wasn’t it just going to remind her of the horror she went through? Of how he’d coldly left and disregarded her wishes? Had a small part of her not been repulsed by his ease of violence and murder? Or did the part of her that found him interesting outweigh all of that? The darkness in him almost smiled at the possibility of it being true. Of course, it wasn’t to say that there weren’t better parts to his work. There was him jumping into the ocean to save her. There were a lot of times like that. But it wasn’t nearly as much as there were times of pain and death and guilt for those he couldn’t save.

“I have not. Between me settling here because of my family’s presence, and the vast supernatural activity, I don’t think I could keep myself out entirely.” He wasn’t so sure whether she was trying to figure out what he had been doing or not. If she hinted at some specific incident in Gaia that he should have been involved with. Besides, he couldn’t reveal that he very much was trying to keep out of Gaia for the time being. He tilted his head as he looked at her, wondering why it mattered to her in the first place. If this was her trying to catch up with him. “What have you occupied your time with, Saga?” he asked, curious to know how she’d been since the last time they saw each other. Even if he hadn’t disclosed to have shared similar thoughts about her, he had found himself to be thinking about her a lot more than he thought he would.

It was clear from the moment confusion showed in her expression that his assumption had been false. His brows rose subtly at this. Surely most people would feel a little horrified after something like that. Blame him for it getting as far as it did. Not want anything to do with him to avoid getting hurt again. But there was none of that. He tensed slightly when she expressed that she was disappointed in him. He hated those words. Now more than ever. It only reminded him of his father, and how no matter what he did, he was left with the feeling of disappointment. And who did she think she was to repeatedly express her disappointment in him, anyway? Why would she even bother to expect something of him? However, he still wanted to hear what she had to say, so he kept his composure, relaxed the muscles in his jaw, and listened to her.

Her reasoning was quick to get rid of the minor annoyance because for all this time he’d thought he’d impacted her life tremendously by being part of the reason she’d been through those experiences, and yet she didn’t regret going with him. It was honestly something he’d needed to hear. So, she’d spoken the truth when she’d said she was okay that night. A brief smile appeared on his lips when he felt the invisible finger tap against his forehead. In some way relieved to hear that she felt this way. Not that he felt so guilty about it now, but it did manage to lighten the air surrounding the encounter. “I sometimes convince myself of things that might not be true to make other things easier.” Telling himself that she was better off without him had helped him stay out of her life. And it wasn’t so odd that he made that decision considering his experience with people backing out once they realized how dangerous it was to be close to him. People with her views were the minority. “And I do regret it. No one should have to go through the things you were subjected to. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean apart from growing a closer relationship with you. Helping you find your father so you’d continue to provide me with spells. There really isn’t a good reason for why I ever invited you.” Whenever possible Michael requested the help of fairies as they were the magic equivalent to angels. But they were weaker than witches when it came to more demanding spells, so he had to resort to them on occasion. And only a few of them were like Saga. It was only natural for him to want to improve their partnership. But it shouldn’t have to come at that great of a cost to her.

He stepped back from the desk as the witch walked around it, glancing up at Circe as he felt them glare at him from their position on the bookshelf. However, their exchange of glances was brief as Saga answered his question, and he returned his eyes to her. He was a little confused by what she meant by recovery. Because if it wasn’t related to their trip, he had no idea what she’d need recovery for. When she then mentioned some troubling situation, he furrowed his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Had she not moments before told him that she’d stayed out of trouble? That she doubted she’d get in bad enough trouble to warrant a prayer? So, what incident had managed to leave her exposed, away from her shop, and in need of recovery? “What has happened?” He had a feeling it had something to do with the piece of her soul that was missing, but a lot could have happened over the course of seventeen months, so he tried not to draw any conclusions.

It was easy for her to say that. She had no idea what it felt like to carry even a fraction of his burdens. If he never apologized or regretted his actions when he’d strayed too far from his principles and morals, he would be an empty shell. Contrition was as natural for him as it was for any angel. And frankly, he’d fallen a long time ago if he lacked that. It wasn’t the same as him not being capable of pretending to be void of emotion, or confident when he knew that he was right. If she couldn’t see that guilt was a part of being an empathetic being, then he didn’t know what to say to her. But it certainly made him wish he’d never initiated such a conversation with her. Because regret wasn’t the same as shame. It wasn’t weakness. It didn’t mean he didn’t see the good or the necessity of their sacrifices during that time. But mistakes had been made, and he had to own up to those. More importantly, he thought she’d care that he was feeling bad about the pain she was put through. But her reactions to every single attempt he’d made to express he cared about her, made him wonder why he ever had done so in the first place. There was no reason for him to waste time apologizing to someone who didn’t even see a need for it. Who ignorantly asked an archangel if he hadn’t heard of a simple metaphor. And for the first time, when he looked into those blue eyes, it seemed that he really saw the witch for who she was.
When she said that she wouldn’t be joining him on a trip again, he was only glad to hear it. That they were on the same page regarding that. “Good.” A brief smile passed his lips at that. It was what he’d wanted since the day he left. Them returning to doing business inside the four walls of this shop. Anything else just complicated things. The Winter Gala was the first glimpse into that, but the trip to Cuba had only made it that much more evident.

The mirrored surprise on her expression was curious, to say the least. As if she genuinely hadn’t thought he’d ask further about it. And well, truth was, he didn’t really care to know more. They all went through ordeals that they needed recovery for. He’d much rather not dwell on that part of life. Not now. But if he were to continue playing his character well, he knew that he had to act concerned when she revealed something like that. Particularly when her safety had been the primary reason for his absence.  
His gaze stayed patiently with her, knowing how difficult it was to talk about things like that, and he wasn’t going to push the topic if she didn’t want to talk about it. But then she did, and he narrowed his eyes as she started off by saying that word had spread after Cuba, leading him to believe it was related to their trip. But it wasn’t easy to let that reality sink in. Let alone find the words to express what he thought about it. He briefly lowered his eyes to Circe as they moved to the desk to get closer to their witch, listening to her talk about the incident. She didn’t have to go into details for Michael to know that it had been very serious. There was a vast difference in her from the time in that farmhouse to now.
And as if no time had passed since their closeness back in Cuba, he stepped around the desk to wrap his arms around her. One hand against the back of her head as he pressed her close to his chest. Another resting on the middle of her back. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he held her, not really knowing why he hadn’t just stayed on the other side. She’d not reacted well to his empathy before, so why should she now? She might push him away for all he knew. But he wanted her to know that he was there for her. Because that was the kind of person he was. Deep underneath the current darkness coursing through him. The same darkness that made his hands feel incredibly warm against her body. His temperature shifted from extreme cold to extreme heat so often that he barely took notice of it anymore. “Was it one of those demons?” He pulled slightly away, extending his arms so he could look at her. “God, Saga. How much of your soul did they take?” His eyes were filled with compassion as he looked into her eyes, then down her body, as if he were to discover some injuries he wouldn’t already have noticed. The missing pieces of her soul were undoubtedly only one of many consequences she’d had to endure. It had to be. “How did you get away?” he then asked as he removed his hands from her body. He could only imagine what a prolonged stay meant, but he had a feeling it was far more than a couple of days.

The line between pretending and feeling blurred as he imagined what she must have gone through. And wasn’t it for the discomfort of the darkness shoving his emotions back, he would have embraced her for longer. However, when she said the demon nearly had taken her whole soul the fight was temporarily lost. His pupils expanded in horror at the thought of her death before he lowered them to better recollect himself. Listening to her explain something about having a part of her soul stored. Normally abhorring the idea. But if it had come down to the demon taking it all, that stored part of her soul might have been the only thing that could have saved her. His gaze shot back to her as she revealed that she had visible scars as well, not helping nightmarish images from rushing forward. But the anger and sadness he’d expected to feel were significantly dimmed. Her story mingled with thousands he’d heard before. “Those scars are a sign you were stronger than whoever gave them to you.” His thumb brushed along the skin of her arm before letting go. “And if you find that your soul isn’t restoring itself to its former state, I know of people who can help.” It wasn’t much, but it was what little comfort he could offer her. There was no way for him to change the past, so even though he regretted not leaving her sooner, for not doing what it took to prevent something like this from happening, he had to think of the present.

“I only left because I thought it would spare you from experiencing that kind of torment again.” A shadow grasped around his heart. The disease despised the sentimentally and was fighting to regain its control from the light she brought forth in him. He swallowed as he looked down at the arm she was holding, knowing he didn’t make it easier by admitting this. Of course, there were other reasons for making that decision. But for once he didn’t feel as if he ought to leave. He wasn’t influenced by those same obligations. His green eyes found hers again, a trace of a smile on his lips. “I’m just glad to see that you got out and that you’re going to try to stay out of the spotlight. I would hate to lose your help to popular demand.” If word spread about her services, and character, he’d not be able to show up like he had today. The unpredictable nature of his work didn’t often allow the patience for appointments.
 
Calvin Ambrose.
Was he the one who had taken her? It wasn’t long after he’d freed Elenora that Calvin had left the motel to escape, so she had to have been his captive around the same time. Realizing this, he felt incredibly grateful for his lack of a guilty conscience. “I was looking for him last year, but he’d gone into hiding by that point.” As much as he wanted him to suffer for what he’d done, he’d quickly become less of a threat to the angels for this reason. When demons like that hid from them, it was a sign that they valued their own life too much to do something overtly reckless. It didn’t mean that they were going to stop looking for him. It just meant he had become a lower priority. “Do you think he is going to hurt you again?” He didn’t seem the type to be that foolish, but she might have a better idea of this than him. And if she was concerned about the possibility, he’d do about anything to protect her from it. It was the least he owed her for dragging her into the claws of those demons in the first place.

[It had been such a peaceful couple of months. The angels had seemed to have accepted his plans of hiding, concluding that he wasn’t as much of a threat anymore. And then, for the first time in over a year, he heard it. His given name. The wires that he was supposed to connect to a patient snapped in his grip, his knuckles white with anger. It didn’t take him long to decipher who she’d revealed it to either, fueling his wrath trifold. He turned on the spot to face the hybrid he was supposed to conduct testing on. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but we’ll have to reschedule. Something important just came up.” He placed a hand on her back and nudged her out of the room before he closed the door and leaned against it. His hand let go of the door handle to instead rake through his hair. He didn’t have to say anything for her to feel the emotion-driven thoughts that overwhelmed his mind, surely overtaking hers for those few first moments. Likely distracting her thoughts as his own became louder. It was enough for her to know that he’d heard her. To know that he was filled with hatred and anger and a need for revenge. Until it went pitch-black. An onyx wall growing tall between their minds, blocking out his succeeding thoughts.]

Michael stepped back when Circe landed on the witch’s shoulder, the same instant she’d let go of his sleeve. Not questioning why she’d suggest talking about it elsewhere. Instead, he just nodded his acceptance. He didn’t think Calvin would know that they were talking about him, and he was confident her magic made the shop safe from intrusion or spying. But if she didn’t want to talk more about it here, he had to believe she had her reasons.